


Conferencing [Repost]

by teenagehandmodel



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: the_eagle_kink, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagehandmodel/pseuds/teenagehandmodel
Summary: "It's just that E.C. MacCunoval is...well, he's E.C. MacCunoval: professor of Celtic Studies at Brigantes University by the age of twenty-three. He's the wunderkind whose theories have revolutionized the whole field and whose name appears on the bibliography of practically every journal article and conference paper written in the past three years.Marcus is impressed by E.C MacCunoval. He admires E.C. MacCunvoal. But he's not overawed and definitely, despite what Jamie claims, not obsessed with E.C. MacCunoval. He's not. Seriously, how can he be? He's never met the guy, never spoken to him, or emailed him."
Relationships: Marcus Flavius Aquila/Esca Mac Cunoval
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Conferencing [Repost]

**Author's Note:**

> I am NOT the author of this work! 
> 
> I really hope this is not super creepy: This fic was posted as a comment fic nearly ten years ago in the eagle kinkmeme and I absolutely loved it to bits. Some years later, when Delicious was close to its end, I saved this fic on my computer. I recently looked for the original fic in the kinkmeme again but couldn't find it for the life of me, I also believe it was posted anonymously? To me it would be very sad if this fic was lost to time and so to save it, I wanted to post it here where it's accessible.
> 
> However, if you are or you know the author of this fic please let me know! I will absolutely take it down again if this was an inconsiderate move of me. This really is meant as an hommage to this lovely piece of writing, but if the author has had their reasons to delete the original fic, I will of course delete my repost.

It's not that he's overawed by E.C. MacCunoval - it's not like that at all. Marcus has a doctorate. Marcus has a teaching position in a world-renowned Celtic Studies department in a world-renowned university. He's even got the chance at a professorship if he plays his cards right. He's doing better than most. Pretty much the only way he could be overawed at this point in his life is if someone put him in a room with the Vix Krater.

It's just that E.C. MacCunoval is...well, he's E.C. MacCunoval: professor of Celtic Studies at Brigantes University by the age of twenty-three. He's the wunderkind whose theories have revolutionized the whole field and whose name appears on the bibliography of practically every journal article and conference paper written in the past three years.

Marcus is impressed by E.C MacCunoval. He admires E.C. MacCunvoal. But he's not overawed and definitely, despite what Jamie claims, not obsessed with E.C. MacCunoval. He's not. Seriously, how can he be? He's never met the guy, never spoken to him, or emailed him. 

Marcus doesn't even know what he looks like, because E.C. Cunoval's bio page on the Brigantes website has said 'photograph to be updated' for just about as long as Marcus can remember, and that's a pretty long time. And it's not like he checks every week to see if the page has been updated. Because he doesn't. That would weird. Also, kinda stalkerish. He totally doesn't do that. 

Maybe he checks once a month, but that's just professional curiosity and totally warranted. 

If Marcus is going to call it - this thing he has for E.C. MacCunoval - anything at all, then he'll call it an academic crush. A really small academic crush. 

'What does the 'E' stand for?' Jamie says. 'That's what enquiring minds want to know. And by enquiring minds, I mean horny minds. And by horny minds, I mean you lot.' 

He waves his mug of tea towards the saggy couch that spends its days decaying gently in the corner of the departmental office - the couch Marcus is sitting on, squeezed between Felicity and Kirsty.

'It's a Gaelic name, isn't it?' Felicity says. 'Someone told me it when I was down at that workshop in Cardiff and I've clean forgotten.'

'Eòghan?' Jamie suggests. 'Egan? Eideard? Eumann?' 

'I said I couldn't remember and you becoming a walking Gaelic name dictionary isn't going to change that, James.'

'There's gratitude for you,' Jamie mutters, leaning forward to help himself to another cookie.

Felicity ignores him with a kind of casual ease that Marcus knows is the result of long hours of practice.

'Did you read the paper he wrote on the amber trade during the Atlantic Bronze Age?' She shakes her head, awed. 'I want to fornicate with that man's brain.'

'I'm not that picky,' Kirsty says. 'I'll hump whatever part of him I can get closest to at the conference.'

The CONFERENCE. When Marcus thinks about the CONFERENCE, he thinks about it in uppercase. Not that he shouts at himself internally, because that would be worrying - also a little bit freaky. It's just that the CONFERENCE in Aberystwyth is, aside from the place where he has a paper to present and two panels to sit on, the place where Marcus is going to see E.C. MacCunoval for the first time. 

It's the place where he's going to sit with a couple hundred other people in a conference hall and watch E.C MacCunoval's keynote lecture, maybe take a few notes, look interested but not too interested, and fervently hope someone youtube's the talk. Because Marcus may have a really small academic crush, but he's not obsessed - he's not - and he doesn't need to give Jamie anymore ammunition by recording the lecture on his iPhone.

'Alright,' Jamie says, in a conspiratorial whisper that's loud enough for everyone in the office to hear. 'Seeing as we're confessing our deepest, darkest secrets, I'll let you in on one of mine. I'm not gay-'

'There's a surprise,' Kirsty says.

'-but even then, even I wouldn't mind indulging in a spot bit of a rumpy pumpy with our Professor MacCunoval. Therefore - and here's the scientific bit - if he's making me question my unwavering sexuality and sheer raw manliness, then that shows you the power of his humpable brain.'  
Felicity sighs. 'I hate to agree with him, and while his proof is decidedly and typically unscientific, I do rather think he's right.'

Marcus might also think something that's maybe a little similar, but no on needs to know that. No one. Especially Jamie.

'There's talk of a series for the BBC, you know,' Kirsty says.

An image of E.C. MacCunoval standing on a cliff-top and staring contemplatively out at the horizon while the wind whips his hair into artful disarray comes to Marcus' mind suddenly. 

Which is kind of weird when he thinks of it, because he doesn't even know what E.C. MacCunoval looks like. He could be bald for all Marcus knows. He could like wearing hats. He could be afraid of heights.

'But didn't Neil Oliver just do a series on ancient Celtic Britain?' Felicity says. 'Or was it ancient Britain? Or was it the history of Celtic Britain? Or was it all three…'

'Neither, both? If he hasn't, he will,' Jamie says. 'But all those questions beg this question: does E.C. MacCunoval have prettier hair that Neil Oliver?'

Not possible, Marcus thinks, because fuck it, he might have an academic crush on E.C. MacCunoval, but this is Neil Oliver's hair they're talking about - not possible.

'Not possible,' Kirsty says. 'I'm a girl and I don't even have prettier hair than Neil Oliver.'

Jamie shrugs. 'You may have a point there. What about you, Marcus? You're being typically tall, dark and silent, but you're the one who fancies the pants of E.C. Would you indulge in some humpiness with Professor MacCunoval?'

When Marcus woke up this morning to a typical greeting of Edinburgh drizzle, this was not a conversation he imagined having before his third cup of coffee.

'I'm not discussing hypothetically humping a man I've never met.'

'Just between you and me then,' Jamie says, lowering his voice to a volume that Marcus is pretty sure they'd still hear over in the English Literature department. 'Go on, tell me. Given the chance, would you give E.C. MacCunoval's brain a wee hump?'

'Jamie!' Felicity throws one of the couch cushions at Jamie's head. 'Leave him alone or I'm hiding your biscuits, and we'll just see how long you survive without a Marks and Spencer's Viennese Whirl!'

Jamie stuffs his last cookie into his mouth, smiling at Felicity through a shower of crumbs. He looks like a hamster, Marcus thinks, a red-haired, hungover hamster. 

'Flick, you are a women both cruel and unusual. Also, I could have caught something from that cushion.'

Felicity doesn't look up from the paper she's grading. 'Not something you've haven't already caught. And don't call me Flick.'

'You love me really,' Jamie says, turning back to Marcus. 'Go on. Blink once for yes, twice for no.'

Marcus stares at him unblinking. The sooner the CONFERENCE is over, the better.

'You'll have to blink at some point, mate.'

'Blinking's overrated,' Marcus says.  
  
\-------  
  
Marcus is networking. Marcus is mingling. Marcus is conferencing like a mofo. 

Marcus is mostly hiding in the corner by the refreshment table with Jamie.

'Oh, fuck me sideways with a shovel!' Jamie whispers urgently, ducking behind Marcus.

'What?' Marcus says. 'No, wait - what?'

'No, don't look round, you fucker!' Jamie hisses. 'See the wee man with the white hair and the stripey jumper? That's Dr. O'Shannassy. He was my thesis supervisor at Glasgow and you've never met a man who could talk for so long about Early Irish literature and still not lose the will to live. Is he looking over here?'

'No,' Marcus says. 'He's talking to Professor Davies.'

'Right, fuck this for a carry on,' Jamie says. 'I'm making a run for it.'

And he does, fleeing out the door of the conference room before Marcus has a chance to reply.

'So, I'll just…stay here then?' Marcus asks, under his breath. 

He attempts to look occupied and less lukerish by contemplating the offerings on the refreshment table. 

There's no coffee, of course, because anything else would be un-British. There is a tea urn, but Marcus suspects it's about two minutes from exploding and taking the rest of the conference center with it. A few bottles of water still sit next to the urn, and there's three whole pitchers of the watery orangish soda that's always on refreshment tables even if Marcus can't remember ever seeing anyone drink it.

'Orange squash,' he'd been told, when he'd come across it for the first time when he was hiding by the refreshment table at a welcome evening for international students. 'Destroying the pancreases of Britain's youth since Victoria was on the throne.'

'I recommend the water,' a voice says. 'Can't go wrong with water.'

Marcus looks up. 

The guy is young for a crowd that usually tends towards Palaeolithic, wearing sneakers and a t-shirt that shows off his tattoos, and is so obviously a grad student at his first conference that he makes Marcus feel old and jaded - and even more overdressed in his button-down than he did when he'd first arrived to a room full of mostly archaeologists wearing staggeringly ugly sweaters.

'Water, huh?' Marcus says, because nerves just make his conversational skills even smoother. 'Any advice about the snacks?' He waves a hand towards the limp looking cookies.

'I wouldn't go near the hobnobs if you don't want to break a tooth,' the guy says, with a grin that makes Marcus' belly reorient itself a few times, 'but you can never go wrong with a jammy dodger.'

Until he actually moved to the UK for school, Marcus would honestly not have believed that one country could invent so many vaguely euphemistic names for baked goods. In fact, he's pretty sure they're just fucking with him at this point, because a 'Tunnock's Snowball?' Really?

'I'll keep that in mind,' he tells the guy, and reaches for what he hopes is a jammy dodger. He's expecting the guy to drift away now that's he's been polite and made small-talk to the awkward numismatist lurking in the corner, but the guy just grins some more and props himself against the table.

'So, enjoying the conference?' he asks.

Marcus nods, because admitting the truth probably wouldn't do much to improve on the image his lurking's creating. 'Just mingling, networking, you know?'

The guy grimaces like he does know. 'Are you presenting a paper?'

'I am,' Marcus manages around a mouthful of jammy dodger. 'On - sorry, excuse me for talking with my mouth full - on Romano-Celtic syncretism as evidenced through coinage.'

'Oh, then it's Dr. Aquila, right?' the guy asks, straightening up so abruptly that Marcus takes a startled step backwards, then immediately regrets it. 'Marcus Aquila from Edinburgh?'

Marcus nods again, a little uncertainly. He's pretty sure they've never met. He's more than pretty sure he'd remember if they had.

'I'm really glad to have caught you,' the guy says, laying a hand on Marcus' forearm. Marcus is so entirely not sure what's going on right now, but he's not about to argue because, well - hot guy with tattoos who's touching him voluntarily.  
'I was actually going to track you down later, after your presentation,' the guy says, taking back his hand. 'I have to tell you, I'm a real admirer of your work - it's informed quite a bit of my own conference paper.'

'You're presenting a paper?' Marcus asks, surprised. Not that it's weird for a grad student to present a paper at a conference, it's just that there's some big names speaking over the next two days and most of them have at least two doctorates. Marcus is pretty much lowest on the list and even he has ten letters after his name at last count.

'Yeah,' the guy says, 'tomorrow, in the afternoon.'

That's even weirder, because so close to E.C. MacCunoval's keynote, the afternoon is a prime spot. 

But just then Marcus notices the University of Brigantes pin stuck near the fashionably distressed collar of the guy's t-shirt, and that's also when things start making sense, because the guy might only be a grad student, but he's a grad student at Brigantes.

'Brigantes, huh?' Marcus manages, not really all that surprised that his conversational skills haven't improved in the last sixty seconds, but just as he says it, another guy comes up to the table to help himself to a cup of tea.

'Alright, Esca? Looking forward to tomorrow, eh?'

'Wouldn't miss it, Tony,' the guy - Esca - says over his shoulder. He turns back to Marcus with an apologetic smile. 'Sorry, you were saying?'

'Brigantes,' Marcus says again. He points at the pin, feeling more awkward by the second. 'You're from the University of Brigantes?'

The guy looks down at his collar. 'No, I just like wearing the pin.'

'Oh…' Marcus says, and doesn't say anything else because, as expected, his conversational skills have reached full capacity and overloaded.

Esca laughs. 'No, sorry. I'm just joking.' He looks looks up at Marcus, grinning wider. 'Sorry, bad joke. I am from Brigantes. There's quite a few of us here actually, because of the panels and the keynote.'

'I'm not- not surprised,' Marcus says, rebooting. 'You, uh- you must be pretty flattered that Professor MacCunoval was asked to make the keynote.'

Esca breaths out a startled laugh 'Funny you should mention that,' he begins, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

'Dr. Moffatt!' a voice cries suddenly, loud and full of Dublin. 'James Moffat! I thought that was you!'

Marcus turns to find Jamie caught in the doorway.

'Oh, Dr. O'Shannassy,' Jamie says, looking over at Marcus, wide-eyed and pleading. 'Fancy meeting you here.'

'It's awfully nice to see you again, James. I've just the read the most wonderful new translation of the Táin Bó Cúailnge. Come over here my lad, and let me tell you all about it. I remember how much you love your Old Irish epics.'

'I'm sorry, where was I?' Marcus says, turning back to Esca and trying to hide his grin. 'Oh, right - Professor MacCunoval's keynote. It's going to be just…' Marcus shakes his head. 'I don't even have the words for how awesome it's going to be. His work is ground-breaking. It must be a real honour to work so closely with him.'

'Uh…' Esca says, looking at him kind of strangely. 'I never introduced myself, did I? I'm Esca-'

'Really sorry to interrupt gents,' Jamie says, appearing at Marcus' elbow. 'We have to go now, Marcy-Marc, or we'll be late for our panel. And we wouldn't want to be late for our panel, would we, Dr. Aquila?' he adds, raising his voice and jerking his head in Dr. O'Shannassy's direction in what Marcus thinks Jamie must think is a surreptitious manner.

'No, Dr. Moffat, absolutely not,' Marcus agrees loudly, trying not to wince at his stilted delivery.

'Right, sorry tattooed stranger, but it's time for me and the Roman to mush,' Jamie says, taking Marcus by the elbow and pulling.  
'Sorry,' Marcus tells Esca, 'but we really do have to go or we will be late for our panel.'

'Is that the Orkney chariot burial panel?'

Marcus nods.

'Well, I'll see you there, then,' Esca says. 'I was planning on watching that one.'

'Okay, cool,' Marcus says, because conversational skills are approaching critical levels again. 'It was nice meeting you.'

'You too, Marcus,' Esca calls, just as Jamie succeeds in dragging Marcus out of the door.

'Is that E.C. MacCunoval over there?' a woman asks, as a group of ugly-sweatered people step past Marcus into the conference room.

'D'you know, I think it is.'

Marcus turns to look over his shoulder, but he's only quick enough to catch the door swinging closed. 

Great, he thinks, just great. Looks like he'll have to wait another day to see E.C. MacCunoval for the first time.

'Seriously, pal,' Jamie says, 'If you don't hurry up, then O'Shannassy's going to come at us armed with Early Irish law tracts, and that won't be fun for anyone, least of all me. So move your shapely arse before I move it for you!'  
  
\------  
  
It's a big crowd - bigger than he was expecting. But then, a chariot burial where there's never been a chariot burial is usually a pretty big deal, and a chariot burial on Orkney is a really big deal, so maybe he shouldn't be surprised that there's a lot of interest. 

If he's being honest, Marcus isn't really sure why he's here. He was on the team, but only during the finds processing stage. Other than a few specialist areas, he doesn't really have much to add to the panel.

Still, it's a big panel, so he probably won't even have to speak at all.

Or at least, that's what he thinks up until Kirsty finishes her talk and the panel begins. Because when it does, it becomes clear that the conference organizers know their attendees pretty well, and Marcus realizes why he got an invite to sit on the panel.

'I'm sure you'll all agree that it's a truly fascinating, unprecedented find,' Jamie says, 'But here's what I really want to know: fucks sake was a chariot doing on Orkney? Did Charlton Heston bring his scuba gear with him?'

Marcus interjects with some inane facts about Greco-Roman grave goods and the evidence for extensive trade networks in Iron Age Scotland, and that, along with a kick to the shins under the table, is enough to get Jamie back on topic again.

Just like he said he would, Esca does come the panel. He stands right at the back of the room. When Marcus happens to look over - not deliberately, because that would be stalkerish and not cool - Esca seems intent on what's being said, even when he's politely fending off the weirdly high number of people who come up to talk to him during the panel.

Esca leaves five minutes before the end, but so do a lot of the audience, and Marcus isn't surprised, because E.C. MacCunoval is on the 'Romans in the North' panel that's starting soon.

Marcus isn't going to E.C. MacCunoval's panel. He's a little pissed about missing it, because, well - E.C. MacCunoval. And also because he knows they'll be talking about the legionary eagle that was discovered during the excavations in Silchester a few months back, the eagle that supposedly belonged to the Ninth Hispania. 

Marcus' dad likes to claim that the Aquila family are descended from the Legate of the Ninth Hispania, which Marcus knows is crap, but still, he loves his dad and he was going to record the panel on his iphone so they could watch it together - and if he happened to record E.C. MacCunoval at the same time? Well, it's the digital age, so what can you do?

But he doesn't go to the panel because he goes to Felicity's panel on language divergence instead. He figures actual real-life friendships probably factor higher than unrequited academic crushes. Plus, there's nothing Celticists love more than an argument over P-Celtic versus Q-Celtic, so he knows it'll be a fun watch.  
And it is. Some of it's a little out of Marcus' depth, especially the finer intricacies of Breton grammar, but even he knows things are getting heated when Felicity flushes bright red for the fifth time and says 'Well, I really- I really must protest that assertion quite strongly, Professor Davies, if you don't mind me saying so, and I apologise if you do.'

Then it's time for Marcus to present his paper. Unlike the panel, his presentation doesn't attract a big audience, and he wasn't expecting one, because it's a pretty specialized subject. But there's still enough faces staring back at him to send his nerves heading in the same direction his conversational skills did earlier.

He gets through it by imagining that the audience are all bleary-eyed freshman, that they're sitting in the first lecture of his 'Introduction to Scottish Gaelic' class and all he's going to have to do is repeat 'no, not "gaylic", it's like garlic without the "r"' for the next thirty minutes. 

And it works, because he's so caught up in his own presentation that he doesn't notice Esca until he comes up to the front of the room when Marcus has finished with questions

Esca's wearing a cardigan now, and a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses that look like the glasses Kirsty excavates from the bottom of a desk drawer whenever she loses a contact. They make him look like the kind of person who likes thing ironically. But that's alright, because Marcus unironically likes Esca's face.

'That was great,' Esca says. 'Really enjoyed it. All the stuff about the increasing use of silver coinage correlating with increasing contact with Rome? It was fascinating.'

'Thanks,' Marcus says, ignoring the fact that he can feel his ears turning red and hoping that Esca's ignoring it to.

'I didn't get a chance to ask earlier,' Esca says. 'I was wondering if maybe we could talk after my lecture tomorrow, if you've got time? I'd like to pick your brains on some translations I'm having trouble with.'

'Sure. Absolutely,' Marcus says, trying hard not to sound too eager. 'But maybe we can meet after Professor MacCunoval's keynote, if that's okay? I really don't want to miss it. I've been looking forward to it for months.'

Esca blinks at him. He hesitates for a second like he's about to say something, but then he looks to the line of people waiting to talk to Marcus and shakes his head instead. 'Uh…yeah, that'd be fine.'

After that, it's the 'Pictish Standing Stones' panel and another big crowd, but thankfully he really only does have to talk once when there's a question about the technicalities of the Ogham translations.

And then there's no more talks or panels, so Marcus and Jamie meet up with the girls, and Kirsty says, 'I'm gasping for a pint,' and Jamie says, 'You're a woman after my own heart,' and Felicity says, 'I wouldn't say no to a small glass of chardonnay,' so they head out of the conference center and into Aberystwyth.  
  
\--------  
  
It's still early evening and a workday so the town's a little quiet, but there's enough archaeologists in their number to mean that the 'pub-with-reasonably-priced-alcohol homing-beacon' works just fine.

'What's wrong with your face?' Kirsty asks Jamie, as Marcus takes a first sip of his Guinness. 

Felicity laughs. 'He's sulking because he's finally managed to track down a copy of the conference timetable and-'

'They spelt my name wrong,' Jamie interrupts. 'I mean, how can you spell Pádraic Ó Seachnasaigh right and then forget the second "t" in Moffatt? I bet they did it on purpose. Bastards.'

'Can I see?' Marcus says. 'I want to check what the keynote's about. They've been keeping that pretty quiet.'

'Marcus,' Felicity begins. 'I should probably tell you-'

'Roman Britain,' Marcus reads. 'An Age of Syncretism.'

'Yes, well that's what I should probably have told you before you read it.' She reaches out to pat him on the knee. 'Your paper focused on the syncretism shown by the coinage of the southern British tribes, and you know that E.C MacCunoval's real area of expertise - of his many areas of expertise, that is - is the northern Britons. I'm sure there won't be too much of an overlap.'

'Marcus, my lovely,' Kirsty says, 'bless your cotton socks, but you did talk for half an hour about coins. I think E.C. MacCunoval's keynote will be a tad more expansive.'

'Yeah,' Marcus says, because he knows that's true and because he knows that E.C. MacCunoval's going to approach the subject from some completely new and innovative angle that'll force everyone in the field into spending months furiously rewriting articles and lecture notes, and make Marcus academically-crush on him even harder.

He takes a long pull of his drink. 'What I don't understand is why they didn't just tell me, because if they had, then I could have changed the focus of my paper.'

'Well, they had to have run it past E.C. MacCunoval first, hadn't they?' Felicity says. 'And if he didn't have a problem with it, then why should you?'

Kirsty pats him on the back. 'Stop moping. You look like an overgrown golden retriever puppy who's lost his favourite ball.'

'He really does, doesn't he?' Jamie says. 'Do you want me to scratch your tummy, Marcus?'

'Fuck off,' Marcus says, without any heat.

'Esca!' Felicity says suddenly.

'What?' Marcus looks over his shoulder towards the crowded bar. 'Where?'

Esca isn't there, and when he turns back, Felicity is looking at him oddly.

'Pardon me?' she asks.

'Uh…nothing,' Marcus says. 'Ignore me. Please.'

'I was just saying, what with all this talk of him, I've finally remembered what the "E" in E.C. MacCunoval stands for,' Felicity says. 'It's Esca- Esca MacCunoval.' 

Fuck me sideways with a shovel, Marcus thinks.  
  
\----------  
  
He goes to Esca's keynote. Of course he goes to the keynote. He goes because despite the fact that the heat of his embarrassment is hot enough to spark a solar system into being, he wouldn't miss it.

But it's a big lecture hall and a light's blown near the door, throwing some convenient shadows - and then there's Felicity.

'You do realize that I'm only five feet tall, Marcus? I doubt I make a particularly effective shield to hide behind.'

Marcus slumps down a little more against the wall, judging the eye-line from the podium at the front. So long as he stays in the shadows by the left side of the door, he'll be fine.

'Listen,' Felicity says. 'I know that you're utterly mortified but-'

'Can we please not talk about this anymore?' Marcus begs. 'Please can we- just not?'

'Marcus, you complimented the man's work. There's nothing wrong in that. If anything, he'll be flattered.' 

'I didn't just compliment his work,' Marcus tells her, his face burning at the memory. 'You know when we were talking about brain humping? Pretty much that. That's pretty much what I did and I don't know about you, but if someone wanted to hump my brain, I'd be a little worried. And also a little concerned for their mental stability. Also for my brain.'

'Oh, Marcus,' Felicity sighs, shaking her head.

Esca's keynote is everything he expects it to be. The lecture hall falls under a kind of trance, half wonder, half jealous rage. Marcus falls on the wonder side of things - falls hard. In fact, he's so caught up that he forgets about his cosmic-birthing embarrassment until Esca pushes his glasses up his nose and says, 'I'll just pause here for a moment because I'd like to preface this next section by mentioning how indebted I am to the wonderful work of Dr Marcus Aquila from the University of Edinburgh. I think he's in the room today…'

There's a murmur of voices and some heads start turning. Marcus slumps down further, thinking if the wall would just swallow him whole right now, then he'd be really grateful. But even slumped he's still tall enough to catch a glimpse of the puzzled frown that crosses Esca's face as he says, 'Or perhaps not. Let me see, where was I…'

'You are a cruel, cruel man, Marcus Flavius Aquila,' Felicity whispers over her shoulder. 'Look at his poor little face. I don't think you're the only one with a crush, academic or otherwise.'

That's such a blatantly false assumption that Marcus doesn't reply. He just shakes his head and sidles a little closer to the door, and then half an hour later when the keynote finishes, he uses the standing ovation as cover and flees out of the door as quickly as Jamie would with an Irish Literature professor at his back.  
'Marcus!'

Marcus chokes down his sip of coffee. He is going to kill Felicity.

'Hey, Esca,' he manages. He hopes the choking will explain the color his face is turning right now.

'Here,' Esca says, offering him a bottle of water and looking concerned. 'Little sips,' he urges.

Forget about the wall, Marcus would settle for the floor swallowing him whole right now. He takes a sip.

'One of your friends - Dr. Templeton I think it was - told me where I could find you,' Esca says, motioning over his shoulder to the counter of the cafe. He sits down across from Marcus. 'I missed you at the keynote.'

'I was there,' Marcus says. 'I just had to leave a little early because…'

Because? he thinks.

'Because?' Esca prompts.

There's a poster advertising 'Terrific Tuna Toasties' hanging on the wall behind Esca's head. 

'Bad sushi,' Marcus says, and wants to punch himself. 

Esca grimaces. 'Yeah, I've been there myself. Poor you.'

And now Marcus really wants to punch himself.

'Listen,' Esca begins.

Marcus knows what's coming so he figures he might as well get it over with.

'No, hey, I should tell you- I'm really sorry about, you know, all the- the…I didn't know who you were,' he finishes lamely.

'I kind of gathered that,' Esca says, offering him a small smile. 'I'm sorry too. I was going to tell you. I tried to tell you but-'

'No, I know,' Marcus says, because he does. He's replayed yesterday through his mind so many times now that he remembers in excruciatingly clear detail exactly every single time that Esca tried to tell him and every single time Marcus didn't let him and every one of the many, many times he made a complete fool of himself.

'When I didn't get the chance to introduce myself properly,' Esca says, 'I just assumed that you'd find out at a panel or something.'

Marcus didn't find out, because that would be what a normal person would have done and Marcus isn't a normal person. He feels he should establish that, even if it's only in his own mind and to himself. And while he's doing that, his mind informs him he really has to get out of here before he makes a bigger fool of himself. Technically that shouldn't be possible, but he's pretty sure he could pull it off.

'Oh, jeez, is that the time?' Marcus says, and thinks jeez? Is he turning into his dad?

'You're leaving?' Esca says, managing to sound disappointed. He was cool enough to come find Marcus and apologize for something that wasn't his fault, and now he's polite enough to feign disappointment. If any, the fact that Esca's a good guy and obviously not too freaked out by Marcus and weirdness makes Marcus feel worse.

'Got a train to catch,' he says. It's not technically a lie. He does have a train to catch, but the train doesn't leave for five more hours.

'The translations,' Esca begins.

'Email me,' Marcus says, getting to his feet. 'I work better by email.'

He spends most of the afternoon sitting in the train station drinking bad coffee. Of course, that means on the journey back to Edinburgh he has to visit the restroom on the train twice. 

But that's a punishment he figures he deserves.  
  
\--------  
  
To: marcus.aquila@ed.ac.uk  
From: e.c.maccunoval@brig.ac.uk

Subject: Translations.

Hi Marcus,

You mentioned that I should get in touch with you about the translations I was talking about when we ran out time. I've attached some photographs of the inscriptions. I can send you a higher resolution if you need them - just let me know. There's no rush with these, so don't feel the need to rush. We're not aiming for publication until March.

I saw your name included in the attendee list for the symposium in Glasgow on the 28th. I'm going too and I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink or something after? I've been reading about the Argyllshire Cairns Project lately and I'd love to get a perspective on it from someone who's been with the project since its inception.

Thanks again for all your help,

Esca.

To: e.c.maccunoval@brig.ac.uk  
From: marcus.aquila@ed.ac.uk

Subject: Re: Translations.

Please find the completed translations and relevant guidance notes attached.

Apologies - I'm not longer attending the symposium on the 28th due to prior commitments. My colleague, Dr. James Moffatt, is attending in my stead and I'm sure he'll be happy to answer any questions you might have regarding the project.

Regards,

M. Aquila.

To: marcus.aquila@ed.ac.uk  
From: e.c.maccunoval@brig.ac.uk

Subject: Re: Re: Translations.

Hi again,

Thanks so much. I wasn't expecting such a quick turn around. 

Sorry to hear that you won't be there on the 28th, but I'm driving up from Northumberland anyway and seeing as you're only 45mins away, how about I come over to Edinburgh in the evening and we could get a drink then?

Thanks again,

Esca.

To: e.c.maccunoval@brig.ac.uk  
From: marcus.aquila@ed.ac.uk

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Translations.

No thanks necessary.

Apologies again - I have prior commitments for the evening of the 28th also.

Regards,

M. Aquila.  
  
\------'-  
  
Okay, so he's a jerk. And he knows he's a jerk. But he's an incredibly socially-awkward jerk who's just made a complete fool of himself, so he's responding the only way he knows how: passive-aggressive avoidance.

It's surprisingly easy to convince Jamie to go to the symposium in Glasgow instead of him. 

'Aye, no bother. I was going home for the weekend anyway 'cause it's my granny's birthday. Take my first year tutorials for the rest of the week and we'll call it even.'

That means Marcus has to spend more hours that usual sitting in tutorial rooms urging undergrads to do something a little more enthusiastic than grunt at each other in monosyllables and to call the Hochdorf Chieftain's grave goods something a little more descriptive than 'pretty.' But he guesses it's a good trade-off for the toe-curling, buttock-clenching mortification the symposium would have provided him with the opportunity to pursue.

And if Marcus happens to be in their office when Jamie gets back from Glasgow on Monday afternoon, red-haired, red-eyed, and even paler than normal, then that's not weird. It's his office too. Why wouldn't he be there? He's got plenty of time to make it all the way across the square to the DHT for his lecture in five minutes: he can run - kinda.

'God, I'm so hungover,' Jamie says, pulling the blinds closed. 'I could drink my own body weight in Irn-Bru right now. In fact, I could drink your freakishly muscled body weight in Irn-Bru, too. Seriously, where do they even come from? You spend all day sitting behind a desk salivating over old coins and stealing my biscuits.'

'I walk a lot,' Marcus says. 'I read heavy books. Besides, why are you hungover? I thought you went to your grandma's birthday.'

'I did,' Jamie says with a fond smile. 'Eighty-five years young and she can still drink me under the table.'

Glaswegians, Marcus thinks, awed.

'How was the symposium?' he asks.

'Eh,' Jamie says, shrugging. 'Symopsial.' 

'That's not a word,' Marcus tells him.

'Should be a word,' Jamie says. 'Dr. Malloy was making eyes at me again, by the way.'

'Dr. Malloy is seventy-two and recovering from cataract surgery.'

'She was making eyes at me,' Jamie insists. 'They might of been watery eyes, but she was making them.'

'E.C. MacCunoval was there, right?' Marcus asks, as casually as he's capable of, and that's about as casual as a top-hat and tails - but like his mom always says, at least he tried. 'Did you talk to him?'

Jamie looks at him blankly. 'Uh…'

'Tattoos, glasses, cardigan,' Marcus prompts.

'Oh, the hipster,' Jamie says. He bends to unlock the bottom drawer of his desk and emerges with a box of cookies. 'Yeah, he was there, right enough. Did a really good talk on, um…something. He asked after you, so I told him you were ill.'

Marcus' belly and his feet suddenly become really closely acquainted. 'You told him what?'

'I told him you were ill,' Jamie repeats, spraying cookie crumbs. 'What did I say again? Bird flu? Pig flu? One of the two, anyway.'

'Why did you do that?' 

'Oh, turn the volume down, mate? My head can't handle it,' Jamie says, grimacing. 'Because he was asking after you and I'm a good friend, so I made up an excuse for you not being there. Don't thank me or anything.'

Marcus thumps his head down onto his desk. How is it possible that he managed to embarrass himself in front of Esca when he wasn’t even there? Does he have the skill to astrally-project his own mortification now?

'I already told him I had prior commitments,' Marcus says.

'What prior commitments?' Jamie asks. 'When I left the flat on Thursday you were sitting in front of the telly in your underpants, watching 'Spartacus: Gods of the Arena' and eating my last pack of Marks and Spencers' Dark Chocolate Jaffa Cakes.'

Marcus considers crawling under his desk and curling up into a ball to die. He really seriously considers it.

'I was lying about the prior commitments.' 

'Oh,' Jamie says. He snaps his fingers. 'Is this about the whole brain-humping, Marcus-is-a-socially-awkward-eejit thing again?'

'Pretty much,' Marcus says, wondering if the heat coming off his face right now is actually burning a hole through the desktop.  
Well,' Jamie says, 'if you're going to tell porkies, my friend, then you should at least make sure that you have all your ducks lined up before you do.'

'That's a crappy mixed metaphor,' Marcus mutters into the desktop.

'Alright, I'll allow it's not particularly elegant, but I'm a doctor of Celtic Studies, not English Literature. And you'll note how I made my metaphor relevant to your fictional medical condition. Even hungover, I'm still that sharp. Oh, and here,' he says, as something whacks Marcus across the back of the head. 'Now you've reminded me - E.C. MacHipster asked me to give you this.'

Marcus sits up and takes the sheaf of paper from him. 'What is it?'

'Draft of an article you helped him with or something,' Jamie says. 'You should read the notes first. I know I did.'

'The authors would like to thank Dr. Marcus Aquila of the University of Edinburgh,' Marcus reads, 'without whose invaluable contribution this article would not have been possible.'

'Yup,' Jamie says. 

'I am such a jerk,' Marcus says. 'I am such a monumental jerk.' 

'You're a fucking wanker,' Jamie agrees cheerfully. 'Now go and give your lecture.'

Marcus sprints across the square to the DHT. He's five minutes late, but it's a Monday and most of his students are hungover and even later that he is.

Kirsty comes to find him there an hour later, when he's hiding in the empty lecture hall and reading Esca's article draft for the fifth time.

'Jamie's right, you are a wanker,' she tells him kindly. 'In fact, you're a big numpty. A complete and utter numpty.'

'I know,' Marcus says. Or he will know, when he googles it.

Kirsty pats him on the head and gives him one of Jamie's Marks and Spencer's Chocolate Fingers before she leaves.

And Marcus still feels like a jerk, but at least he's a jerk with an over-priced gourmet cookie.  
Jamie's phone beeps.

'Ooh.'

Marcus ignores him.

'Ooh.' Jamie says. 'Marcus, ooh...'

Marcus fights the urge to roll his eyes and reaches for the next paper in the grading pile. 'Yes, James?'

'Why thank you for enquiring as to the source of my astonishment, Dr. Aqulia. The esteemed head of our department has just corresponded with me in an electronic manner to inform me that our undergraduates are about to embark upon a series of lectures delivered by guests of our noble institution.'

'Guest lecturers?'

'Guest lecturers,' Jamie confirms. 'And you know what that means, don't you?'

'Why don't you tell me?' Marcus mutters, chewing on the end of his pen as he considers the paper in front of him. He wonders if he can add any grade points for what's got to be the most inventive spelling of Salzkammergut he's ever seen.

'I'll tell you what it means. Guest lecturers mean no worky-work for Marcy-Marc or his Jamesy-James.'

'Worky- no, never mind. Who's lecturing?'

'Umm…Davies from Oxford,' Jamie reads. He snorts. 'Flick will love that. And O'Shannassy's coming over from Glasgow. Remind me that my asthma's playing up that day.'

'You don't have asthma.'

'Exactly,' Jamie says. 

This time Marcus doesn't bother fighting the eye roll. 'Who else?'

'Fitzgerald from Toronto - that'll be a good one. You know who I mean, right? He's the big guy with the thing for war horns and that amazing mustache. And oh,' he adds, tapping at the screen, 'your tattooed hipster. I didn't really need to say tattooed though, did I? Synonymous, isn't it?'

Marcus pen clatters to the desktop.

'Esca? Esca's coming here?'

'Esca's E.C. MacCunoval, right?' Jamie asks. 'Yeah, that's the one. Uh, why have you turned that color?'  
  
\---------  
  
Marcus can do this. He can totally do this. He's ready, he's psyched - he's had 'Eye of the Tiger' playing through his mind since he woke up. He's gone the distance, he's not going to stop, he's just a man with his will to survive.

He's going to go to Esca's lecture. In fact, he's going to be in the department when Esca arrives. He's going to shake Esca's hand and say 'it's really nice to see you again. I'm sorry I was such a monumental jerk every other time we met or didn't meet.'

These are all the things he's going to do, because he has a plan. Marcus works better with a plan. Marcus still panics with a plan, but at least it's planned panic.

That's why he's in the archeology microanalysis lab at ass-o'clock in the morning, stealing some time on a digital microscope before Esca arrives at lunch. The only thing on his to-do list for the day is positively dating these coins, and once that's done, he can sit around his office some more, being earwormed by motivational eighties pop songs and panicking in an orderly fashion.

He works all morning and he only has once coin left to date when Mike the dendrochronologist starts having palpitations over some bog-oak.

'Oh god, it's so beautiful. Look at these rings. Marcus, they're so beautiful.'

'Okay,' Marcus says, backing away and avoiding eye-contact. He'll come back for his coins later.

He's makes it safely to the lobby but that's as far as he gets, because he runs straight into the tiny, ugly-sweatered figure of Professor MacLeod, the head of the archeology department.

'Oh Marcus,' she says, smiling up at him like a miniature barracuda. 'I was just coming to find you. Could you do me a very small favor and I'll love you from now until eternity.'

Marcus is not entirely sure he wants Professor MacLeod to love him from now until eternity, but his mom raised him right, so he only eyes the distance to the door instead of running towards it, and says, 'Sure, but it'll need to be quick because I have to get back to the department.'

'Ah, well there's the thing,' she begins. 

Marcus is already getting a bad feeling about this.

'Tom's ill. They think it might be swine flu - or was it bird flu? Anyway-'

And that's just really crappy Karma because now Marcus definitely knows what's coming. 

'-we're all hands on deck today with the schools' visit, so I need someone to take his Archeology of Scotland lecture. Tom said your were a tutor for the course when you were doing your phd and-'

Here it comes, Marcus thinks. He could run, but he'll never make it to the door in time. Professor MacLeod might be little but he knows she's quick - he's seen her run for the last of the salmon and cream cheese pinwheels at Faculty parties.

'-I heard someone say you have guest lectures this week, so I know you're free…'

Free - who knew that one little word could sound so much like the last nail being hammered into a coffin?

'I can't really say no, can I?' Marcus says with a laugh that he hopes sounds vaguely hysterical only to his own ears.

'No,' says Professor MacLeod, with a laugh of her own. 'You can't. Not if you want to keep using our digital microscopes, that is.'  
  
\-------  
  
He gives the lecture. Then somehow he gives another despite him not knowing a whole lot about archeozoology. Then he takes a tutorial and maybe just two seminars, and by the time he gets back to the department the only light still on is in Felicity's office.

'He's gone. You missed him,' Felicity says darkly. 'As I'm sure was your intention.'

'It wasn't,' Marcus says. 'I was going to be there. Honestly, I was.'

'Hmm,' Felicity says, looking back to her book. 'Jamie's just phoned on his mobile to say he'd left it in the office and would you mind bringing it home with you.'

'Sure,' Marcus tells her, happy for a reason not to be near another tiny, unreasonably-scary lady anymore. 'I need to get my coat anyway.'

It's only when Marcus is actually rooting around in the detritus that covers Jamie's desk that it occurs to him that it would be pretty impossible for Jamie to call Felicity on his cell to say he's forgotten his cell. And that's also when the office door swings closed and the lock clicks into place.

'Uh,' Marcus says.

Esca flips on the light. 'Hi.’

'Did you just lock the door?' Marcus asks, which is a completely redundant question, but honestly, Marcus is pretty surprised he managed even that much.

Esca nods.

'I-I…why?'

'To make sure you don't run away again,' Esca says, speaking slowly, like he's implying running away is something Marcus does regularly, which is totally not…yeah, okay.

'You missed my lecture today,' Esca says, 'and you can't blame bad seafood this time.'

That is true but - 'I can blame a really scary archeology professor?'

'Not good enough,' Esca tells him, shaking his head. 

Marcus grimaces. He's pretty sure there's about to be an argument and he doesn't cope well with arguments, or confrontations, or really any type of situation where voices are raised, including parties. But when he stops wincing and actually takes a good look at Esca's face, Esca doesn't look pissed. He just looks kind of sad. 

'You wouldn't know, what with you not being there,' Esca says, 'but it was an amazing lecture. I brought my best stuff because I thought you were going to be there.' 

Marcus stares at him. He's sure he's missing something important here, but give him some time, he's still processing.

When Marcus doesn't reply, Esca sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 'Listen, that doesn't matter. I really just need to tell you something and then you can run away if you like. I just need to say-'

'I know it was an amazing lecture.'

Now it's Esca's turn to stare. 'What?'

'I know it was an amazing lecture,' Marcus says again, because he doesn't really know what's going on right now, but he knows that.

Esca shakes his head again, confused. 'You weren't there.'

'I didn't need to be there to know that you were amazing,' Marcus says, and then his brain-to-mouth filter hiccups, so he adds, 'You're E.C. MacCunoval - you're always amazing.'

Esca blinks. Then he blinks again, and just as Marcus is about to ask if he's got something in his eye, Esca says, 'Did you know that your staff bio page has said 'photograph to be updated' for the past year?'

Marcus nods. He does know that. He doesn't know why Esca knows that, but Marcus knows because he runs away from Janet the departmental secretary whenever she tries to take his photograph. 

Esca takes a step towards him. 'Do you know why I know that?' 

'Maybe you know Janet,' Marcus suggests.

'Maybe I do,' Esca agrees, coming closer still, 'but that's not how I know.'

'Okay,' Marcus says, shuffling backwards until Jamie's desk tells him 'this far, no further.'

'I know,' Esca says, 'because up until the conference, I used to check your staff bio page at least once a week.'

'Why would you-' Marcus begins, and then - 'Oh.'

'Exactly,' Esca says. 

And Esca is kissing him, and Marcus is kissing Esca, and he totally didn't see this coming because that would require being a normal person who actually picks up on normal social queues like flirting. Marcus is going to assume that Esca's tongue being in his mouth counts as flirting, because otherwise he's definitely not sure what's going on right now - but he also doesn't care, because there's kissing.  
There's kissing right up until there's not kissing, when Esca breaks away and leans his forehead against Marcus'.

'You're looking perplexed.'

Marcus knows for a fact that he's looking something other than perplexed - namely, really horny - but he's not going to argue.

Esca kisses him again, then tilts his head up to press a kiss between Marcus' eyebrows. 'Felicity said if you got all frowny and confused then I was to tell you - and I don't really understand this - I was to tell you that I would absolutely let you hump my brain.'

'You would?' Marcus whispers, feeling a grin split his face.

'I would,' Esca says, grinning back at him. 'And I would really like to hump yours too - in theory.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah,' Esca says, his breath hot against Marcus' cheek. 'So here's what we're going to do. You're going to take me back to your house or your flat or your horse-drawn caravan, or wherever it is that your bed actually is. With me so far?'

Marcus stares at him again. He tries to formulate some kind of response but his conversational circuits inform him that blood is required elsewhere and they're shutting down.

'Say yes, Esca,' Esca prompts.

'Yes, Esca.'

'And when we get to your bed,' Esca says, 'we're going to take off our clothes. All of them-'

'Take off all our clothes,' Marcus says.

'-and then you're going to fuck me through the mattress.'

'You're going to fuck me through the mattress,' Marcus repeats, dazed.

'Yeah, we can do that too,' Esca tells him. 'But me first. You've kept me waiting long enough.'

And Marcus isn't going to argue with that. Any of it. None of it at all. No arguing from him on any of the above points. He has nothing more to add. Not a single thing. He agrees completely.

'Marcus?' Esca says, taking his teeth away from Marcus' earlobe.

'Yeah?' Marcus manages.

'Stop thinking.'  
  
\--------  
  
'Is that you home at last, my lovely Latin lover? Did you bring any bespectacled yet ironic company?'

Marcus lets his head thump back against the wall next to his bedroom door where Esca has him pinned. 'Oh god, Jamie's here. I totally forgot.'

Esca looks up at him, pupils blown wide. 'Who?'

'My roommate. You met him at the conference. Red hair, fetish for cookies, runs away from Irish Lit professors…'

Esca shakes his head, confused, but it doesn't matter because Jamie appears in the kitchen doorway, wearing boxers and a ratty, crumb-covered t-shirt that declares 'I'll Knap Your Flint Up!' He blinks at them, tilting his head.

'It's like Kirsty's gay porn collection has come to life in my hallway.' 

Marcus has seen Kirsty's gay porn collection and he can't really disagree. 'Um…'

'Don't worry your perfectly symmetrical head about it,' Jamie says, patting him on the shoulder on his way past, heading for the door. 'I'll leave you two gents on your ownsome so you can have at it like little gay bunny rabbits,' he adds, hip-thrusting as he walks. 

'Is there such a thing as gay bunny rabbits?' Marcus whispers.

'That is not a question we care about right now,' Esca tells him urgently.

Jamie's keys jingle and the apartment door creaks open. 'Ciao for now, my homosexual brethren.'

'Pants, Jamie!' Marcus calls, because the one small piece of sanity he still possesses tells him that unleashing a pantless Jamie onto the Edinburgh streets isn't such a smart idea.

Jamie looks down at himself, then shrugs. 'Eh, they're clean. Have a pleasant evening gents.'

'I meant maybe put some on,' Marcus tells the closing door. 'Maybe put some pants on...'

'Or,' Esca says, 'we could take your pants off instead.' He nips at Marcus' lower lip. 'How about that?'

'Or we could do that,' Marcus agrees.

And they do that. 

And then Esca is spread out on Marcus' bed, and he's naked and hot and tattooed in other places, and Marcus is starting to panic, and because Marcus didn't plan for this, it's not even planned panic.

'Stop panicking,' Esca tells him, twisting his hips in a really interesting way. And by interesting, Marcus means distracting. And by distracting, Marcus means distractingly hot. 

Marcus sucks in a breath. 'There are too many options.' 

'Is that so bad?' Esca asks, doing the thing with his hips again, which really isn't helping but is also totally helping.

'I just feel- I feel like I'd work better with some guidelines,' Marcus manages. 'Some instructions, maybe.'

'Instructions?' Esca's tongue darts out to wet his lips. 'Yeah, we can do that.' His mouth twitches into a small smile, eyes considering. 'Talk dirty to me,' he whispers.

Marcus stills, feeling the parts of his body that weren't already rigid going rigid. 

'I can't- I can't do dirty talk.' And if it's possible for his face to flush any redder, he's pretty sure it's doing that right now. 'I can't really talk most of the time, so dirty talk…It's not- I just- I can't.'

'Of course you can,' Esca tells hims, his hands rampaging southwards like a Pictish war-band - and okay, so maybe Marcus has been grading too many papers for his early medieval Scotland class lately. 

Esca reaches up and puts both hands to Marcus' face, meets his eyes. 'I've been told that numismatists are famous for their dirty talk…'

It takes Marcus a second to process that statement because he's running on back-up systems at this point, but when it finally does parse...

'Oh.' 

Because oh.  
'Got there in the end,' Esca says, grinning up at him. 'Talk dirty to me, Dr. Aquila.'

Marcus takes a breath and fires up the relevant circuits. 

'The earliest known examples of truly British coinage are commonly attributed to the Cantii, whose territory included modern-day Kent. Known as the "Thurrock Type," the coins were cast from bronze and-'

He could talk for hours about Cantii coins - because, hey, world expert on early British coinage right here - but Esca's kissing him again and Marcus thinks that maybe now's a good time to stop with the talking and start with the kissing.

So he does.


End file.
